


Strider sick!fic

by Taimat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimat/pseuds/Taimat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There really is no cool way to blow your nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strider sick!fic

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing can be seen as either platonic or romantic. Your choice~

There really is no cool way to blow your nose.

Dave has been trying for the past three days. But when he’s this sick, he can’t even manage to do it discreetly. He just can’t figure out how his body’s making the stuff. Surely he should be closer to a prune than a person by now, judging by how much snot he’s put out. It’s ridiculous.

And Bro always manages to walk in right when he’s doing it.

He’s kind of glad he’s flushed and disgusting, if only for the fact that he can pass off his blush as a byproduct of whatever bacteria or virus thing is all up in his grill.

He’d thought about locking his door, just so he could deal with this himself and keep Bro out of it, but he’d shot that idea down in about two seconds. No door could stop Bro. And then there would be nothing for him to close gently as he left the room, bowl of soup left steaming on Dave’s nightstand.

The way Bro is acting makes this even worse. He really is a good cook, but he keeps that little number under wraps most of the time. The fact that he’s taking the time to make Dave soup from scratch (everything else he’d tried to eat had made him incredibly nauseous) means that he’s actually concerned.

God, this is terrible.

Dave tugs the blankets over his head, trying to drown out the light that’s only making his sinus headache worse from the way he’s squinting against it. Bro had banished his shades somewhere, which probably makes sense, considering how much time Dave’s spending rolling around in a sweaty mess, but it still sucks.

He’s still trying to convince himself to sit up and eat when the door clicks back open again. He groans inwardly. It comes out as a disgusting, hacking cough on the outside.

On the other side of the covers, a large hand splays over his back, rubbing gently, and that helps a little. Once Dave can breathe again, Bro’s pulling the covers down and shoving him over. Dave thinks this is probably not how you’re supposed to treat sick people, manhandling them and shit, but this is Bro, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

Bro slides onto the bed with him, sitting back against the headboard and maneuvering Dave so that he’s propped up against his side. Dave tries to protest, because what is Bro _doing?_ but it comes out as a garbled, “Nngh…”

And then a cool rag is being dragged across his forehead, his cheeks, his neck and down his bare back, and Dave completely forgets what his objection to this was, because it feels _amazing_. After the second pass, when Bro’s in the middle of rewetting the rag in the bowl he’s brought, Dave blinks his eyes open.

Everything’s kind of hazy, but there is an unmistakable pair of red eyes watching him. Dave squints, even though it hurts his head, because he’s positive that Bro is…worried. Visibly worried.

Oh, fuck, is he dying? He’s been getting worse, but it’s only been a few days, and even though he’s sicker than he can ever remember being, he’s sure he’s going to be fine soon enough. Even if it’s not soon enough for his liking. But why is Bro so…

Shit, it must be because he’s so pathetic. Bro is feeling sorry for him.

Dave would rather be dying. This is so incredibly unco—ooh…

The rag moves across his shoulders, and Dave sighs and leans into Bro more, unable to help it.

“Feel like eating?”

The voice vibrates through his head where it’s pressed against Bro’s chest, and despite his insane sinus headache, it’s not altogether unpleasant.

“C’mon, I’ll feed ya.”

Dave whines, completely and totally against his will and how the hell had that even happened and this is the worst possible scenario ever except that he _shivers_ and okay that’s even worse and he kinda wants Bro to leave so he can crawl off and die in a puddle of his own snot and sweat.

“When I was about your age, I got so sick I had to sleep in the bathroom because I never knew which end it was gonna come out of. Spent most of my time shaking an’ dehydrated on the floor, ‘cause I could barely drag myself to the kitchen at all. No one to take care a’ me, an’ I thought I was gonna die there, alone on the bathroom floor. Most miserable feeling in the world.”

Dave shivers again, and Bro pulls the covers up around him, the arm that’s not holding him close coming up so he can press gently at Dave’s forehead, his temples, the bridge of his nose, and shit if that doesn’t help his headache more than the pills he’s been popping.

“You, little bro, are never gonna feel like that.”

And if Dave sniffles and curls a bit closer, vision going hazy again, it’s definitely just the sickness talking.


End file.
